Playgroup
by belletylers
Summary: Tony enrols Tali in a playgroup. Father/daughter fluff and a bit of Tiva angst thrown in for good measure. Set post-13x24.


_The parenting books said this was a good idea,_ Tony reminded himself as his heart began to palpitate at the sight of the orderly circle of parents and toddlers forming on the floor behind the glass doors.

"Tali, are you _sure_ this is a good idea?" he asked the little girl on his hip. He often asked her things. She was usually happy to provide counsel, or if she was asleep, she was at least always willing to lend an ear.

In this case, however, Tali just squeezed Kalev, her stuffed dog, and buried her head into Tony's shoulder. He sighed.

"Me neither, kid," he said, and pushed the glass doors open anyway.

Roughly twenty faces, some small and toothless and some wrinkled with dark circles under their eyes, turned to face them as the little bell on the door signalled their entrance.

A woman probably half his age with light brown hair and a very wide smile rose from the floor to welcome them, carefully sidestepping the circle of curious parents and toddlers.

"Hello!" the woman greeted in a high and sing-songy voice that matched her expression perfectly. "You must be Tony. I'm Melissa – we spoke on the phone. I run the sessions." She extended a friendly hand. Tony smiled, tight-lipped, and shook it.

Melissa bent down so her head was at Tali's eye level. "And this must be Tali!" Tali, who still had her head buried against her father's shoulder, peeked out from behind Kalev and smiled. "Why don't you two come and join the circle and we can let everybody introduce themselves!"

Tony reluctantly sat down in the space that had been vacated for him, on a colourful rug which had the alphabet embroidered on it, and which had clearly seen better days. He winced as his back complained about the whole floor-sitting thing, but he was there for the experience and he would have to endure it. He placed Tali in front of him, who reached out for one of the toys lying in the communal centre of the circle.

First up was Tom and Joanne, and their son Robert. They were the most suburban people Tony had ever seen – and he had spent the last fourteen years of his life solving the murders of white picket fence-having, flag-waving, apple pie-eating Marines. Heads of the PTA, Robert was their _fourth_ child, but they knew how important socialising is for young children! At first glance, Tom and Joanne seemed like the kind of people whose entire existence was subsumed by the existence of their children, but then again, as Tony had learned recently, having a child was a pretty big deal. Let alone having _four._ He reserved his judgements – these were his kind of people now. Not to mention, they were about the only people in the room even close to his age. Most of the others had to be late twenties, some even younger.

Then there was Carla and her daughter Lola, whose husband had been unexpectedly called away on business but who would "endeavour to make it to the next session." There was Gerald and Carl and their son, and after that, things started to blur a little bit. He stared at the ring fingers of each speaker – all spaces occupied by gold and diamonds. He was the only single dad in the room.

Just as he was realising it, it was his turn to speak. He was Tony and she was Tali. Tali was his first – she would be two years old next month. He kept it short, but mostly, he kept it safe. Couldn't risk saying too much and opening _that_ can of worms. Or, cans, more accurately. He wanted to make an impression. He _wanted_ Tali to socialise with her peers. He wanted her to have a normal life, as much as it was possible for her.

That was the scary part, but the strangers seemed to accept his half-story rather willingly, and from there, business continued as usual. There were games, and songs, and more songs, and before he knew it, the hour was over.

"As usual, the next session will be starting in fifteen minutes," said Melissa. "But please help yourselves to the refreshments. See you all next week!"

The swarm of parents and children started heading over to a fold-out table which held plastic plates of sliced fruit, cookies and all the ingredients for coffee and tea.

Tony stood, rolling his shoulders and twisting to stretch out the aching muscles in his back. He let his head fall back, and when he lifted it back up, Melissa was standing in front of him in all her excessively perky glory.

"What did you think of the session, Tony? Should I expect to see you back next week?" she asked.

Tony looked behind him. Two couples were chatting whilst their kids and Tali played on the floor. She was smiling. She was happy.

"Yeah," he replied, still looking at his daughter. "I think we will."

"That's great," she said, not sure how to continue the conversation. Clearly she was better at communicating with kids – at least she was in the right line of work. "See you next Wednesday." She left the room humming one of the catchy tunes that she had taught them all to sing during the session.

"Tali? Would you like some banana?" Tony asked. The little girl eagerly got up and waddled ahead of Tony to the table where said bananas were. Tony followed, deciding that he could use some coffee, even if it was the watered-down kind that comes in a paper cup.

Gerald and Carl were talking to Tom and Joanne nearby, and Joanne called out to Tony: "What did you think of your first ever playgroup session, Tony?" It didn't seem in any way hostile – she was genuinely interested.

"There was…a lot of singing," Tony replied with a smile, more authentic than any from the last hour.

"You get used to the singing," Carl promised, with a reassuring hand on Tony's forearm.

"Yeah, but what you don't get used to is being awake at three in the morning because the song about the moose drinking juice is stuck in your head," Gerald argued.

"Don't think I know that one," Tony said.

"Oh, you _will,"_ said Tom, rolling his eyes. Then he laughed. "Anything for the kids, though, right?"

Tony had trouble finding his footing in the ensuing baby conversation, but he occasionally managed to interject what he thought were insightful contributions.

"You know, you did much better than I expected," Joanne said to Tony. "This group have been together over a year. Don't always take kindly to newcomers." She looked over at Tali, who had found herself another little friend to play with. "I'd say you made the cut."

"She's _adorable_ ," Gerald praised. "Did you do the pigtails yourself?"

Tony actually _beamed_ at that. "Sure did. And thanks." He happened to agree that Tali was, in fact, adorable.

"You actually joined at the perfect time," said Joanne. "Our biannual dinner party is coming up in two weeks! Tom and I are hosting it."

"It's kind of our thing," Tom added.

"Why don't you give me your phone number? I'll text you the details."

Tony thought this was getting to be a little much a little fast. But if it meant Tali having fun, he would do it. He entered his number into Joanne's phone.

"Oh, and of course," she added as she and Tom began to leave. "Bring your partner along."

Tony's breath hitched in his throat. He knew she had said 'partner' instead of 'wife' because their little group was inclusive enough not to make assumptions, but it still made him feel a little uneasy.

"I don't…uh…" he faltered. "It's just me and Tali."

Joanne nodded sympathetically – though she had no idea what she was being sympathetic for, he appreciated it all the same.

The next group were coming in – which meant that they all had to leave. Pleasantries were exchanged, and Tony gave and received with mostly ease. They were genuinely nice people. Though he was glad to have Tali back to himself by the end of it. His back ached as he bent to pick her up but he did it anyway. She rested happily on his hip, snuggled into his shoulder once more.

There were two more sessions before the dinner party, and they unfolded without incident. There was the occasional tantrum, or fight over a toy, but it was never Tali. One of the other parents commented how well-behaved she was and even asked for tips. That one caught him off guard; he didn't know how Ziva had parented Tali for the first year and a half of her life. Hopefully whatever he was doing wouldn't unravel it. It seemed okay so far, but he still had no answer for the other parent's question.

"I guess I…I just got really lucky." He smiled at Tali, who smiled back, all toothy with just the tiniest bit of drool.

The dinner party, though, was _something else._ Tom and Joanne hadn't been kidding when they said this was their thing. The kids were safely confined in a sizeable playpen in their sizeable living room. There were pillows and toys and stuffed animals.

"Look, Tali," Tony said. "Friends for Kalev to play with too!"

Tali hugged Kalev close to her as Tony lowered her into the playpen. "I'll be right over here, okay?" She gave a tiny nod, indicating that she understood.

Tom and Joanne served up a veritable feast, complete with entrée, desert, and wine, white _and_ red. He had only a glass, but even so found himself smiling and laughing with the others. It was nice to be around other parents – apart from Jimmy, no one at NCIS seemed to quite understand. Well, of course, there was Gibbs, but it was far too touchy a subject. Not to mention, he couldn't really imagine getting detailed parenting advice from Gibbs anyway. Their conversations were routine, short and sweet, but important to both men. But these people all had kids; he could learn a lot from them. The kind of stuff you couldn't learn from books, anyhow. There was something very attractive about their collective normalcy.

One of the mothers, Carol, carefully swished the wine around in her glass. "So, Tony," she began. "Where's Tali's mom tonight?" Joanne shot Carol and discouraging look – the woman obviously hadn't been included in the memo – and Tony an apologetic one. He appreciated it, but felt he had no choice but to respond, and with the truth.

"Uh, Tali's mom…passed away. A few weeks ago," he replied, trying to be tactful about it. It wasn't Carol's fault, he knew. But he really would have rathered not to answer that question. There was an ear-splitting silence at the table, only broken by the collective noise of the babies. Both Carol and Joanne looked equally shocked – Joanne must have assumed divorce or something else less drastic than the reality.

No one spoke before Tali started calling for him. "Abba! Abba!" She stood at the edge of the playpen, all big eyes and bottom lip. A few of the parents looked at each other as Tony went to see if she was alright. She outstretched her arms and wiggled her fingers, telling him she wanted to be picked up. He complied, of course.

"Abba?" one of the dads asked. "Is that what she calls you?"

"It's Hebrew," Tony responded.

"Are you Jewish, Tony?" another voice asked. Tony shook his head.

"My…Tali's mom was," he replied, not able to put a title to Ziva's position in his life. Tali fussed in his arms, cuddling up against him. He looked at her. "Are you tired, baby?"

"Yes, it's getting pretty late," Joanne said, standing. "Perhaps we should call it a night."

It was amazing how quickly the joint cleared after that. A few of the braver parents told Tony that they were very sorry for his loss. He thanked them as politely as he could. He just wanted to take Tali home, but he wanted to tell Joanne and Tom that he was sorry for…well, he was just sorry. He had been afraid this might happen. Now the party was ending early.

With his free hand, he began helping them clear dishes.

"Tony, please, you're our guest," Tom said. "You don't have to do that."

"It's okay," he insisted. "I…I'm sorry that it had to come to that."

"Oh, Tony, no," Joanne said, abandoning her dishes to cross the room to him. "I am so sorry. We…we didn't know." Of course they didn't know. There had been a reason for that. "Please don't feel like you have to go. Stay. Can I get you a coffee? Tea? Another glass of wine?"

With some degree of hesitation, he said coffee would be great. He hated how much he felt like he had to appease everybody else because of _his_ pain, Tali's pain. But these were good people.

As coffee was being made and dishes were being cleared by Tom, Tony settled Tali on Joanne and Tom's big leather sofa with a throw over her. She squirmed, started to cry. Started calling for her Ima. The nights were always the hardest – for both of them.

"I know, baby," he whispered, carefully wiping a tear from her cheek. "I miss your mom too." He repeated the stroking motion, his thumb passing over her cheekbone, until she calmed down, and her eyes fluttered shut. That was another one he had learned from Jimmy. He was thankful it had worked this time – it had an imperfect success rate. Some nights Tali would cry for hours, and it broke his heart.

He was so wrapped up in Tali's tears that he hadn't noticed Joanne had been standing there for some time, coffees in hand.

"Poor Tali," she said softly. "To lose her mother so young."

Tony didn't say anything, just took the cup being offered to him.

"What happened?" Joanne asked after a moment's pause.

"It was…it was a bomb."

Joanne looked even more shocked than before. "A _bomb?_ "

"Ziva and I were NCIS Special Agents. She left, two and a half years ago, but that didn't guarantee her safety. She and Tali were living in Tel Aviv and…Tali survived but…She doesn't understand what happened. She just misses her mom." His voice cracked just a little bit. He couldn't help it. Tali's pain was his pain too.

"They lived in Tel Aviv and you were here in D.C.?" Joanne prodded, though he could tell she was getting a little teary herself. She sipped at her coffee to distract herself.

"Yeah. When Ziva left the agency we…she went back to Israel and she…she never told me. She wanted to, but she was waiting for the right time. Waited too long, evidently."

"And that's why she calls you her Abba. She was raised speaking Hebrew." Joanne shook her head in disbelief. "You are so _brave_ , Tony. I want you to know that if Tom and I can ever help you out with anything, please let us know."

"I appreciate it," he said. "And thank you for the coffee." He drained the last of his cup. "And for listening. It's nice to have this conversation with a grown-up." He smiled tearfully, and she returned it. "I think I need to take my little girl home now, though." He gathered the sleeping girl into his arms, who held Kalev tightly in her tiny fist. "I'll see you at playgroup."

And he would. Every week, rain, hail or shine. Gradually, the wary looks and carefully chosen words from the other parents faded into easy-flowing conversation. Things started to be okay. The nights got easier. Father _and_ daughter learned to be strong, to keep going. They had, after all, both learned from the best.


End file.
